


Smoke Signals

by gallifreyslostson



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Companion Piece, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/pseuds/gallifreyslostson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose tries to surprise John on his birthday.  Companion piece to Out of the Ashes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke Signals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleurdeneuf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeneuf/gifts).



John panicked the minute he saw the smoke.  He couldn’t help it; dim memories of being torn from his bed while he choked on the noxious fumes had stuck with him over the decades, and still occasionally tore him from sleep even now.  When he saw the smoke coming from his little flat, his heart immediately dropped as he threw open the door and called for his wife, struggling to be heard over the smoke alarm.

“Rose?  Rose!  Are you in here?”

It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought when he saw it curling under the door, but it wasn’t good.  He waved it out of his face as he dropped his bag and kicked the door closed, raising his eyebrows at the bang that ended the alarm blaring with a crash.

“Shit shit shit _shit_.”

He narrowed his eyes, moving down the hall to the kitchen and staring in confusion at the strange scene.  Rose was in her bra, for some reason having decided to use her shirt to attempt to wave the smoke out of the window.  She was missing a shoe, and a quick search of the ground found it with the shattered plastic remains of the alarm.  The source of smoke appeared to be something black and unrecognizable sitting in a pan on a rack protruding from the open oven.

“Rose?”

She whipped around to him, hair falling from her messy bun into her face, her cheek smeared with something white.  “Oh god, you’re home.”

“I tend to do that in the evenings, yeah,” he said, arching a brow.  “It’s become something of a habit.  Rose, what is going on?”

To his utter horror, she immediately burst into tears.  “I was t-trying to make a r-roast for your birthday,” she explained between sniffles.  “But I forgot set the timer, and I got distracted with the icing for your cake.”  His eyes flashed to the sideboard, and he bit back a smile at the lopsided cake covered inexpertly in icing, the pale shade matching the smear on her cheek.  “And then the n-next thing I knew there was s-smoke everywhere and it’s all ruined!”

“Rose--”

“I just wanted you to have a g-good b-birthday,” she sobbed.

“C’mere,” he said softly, stepping closer and slipping an arm around her waist.  He raised his other hand to push her hair out her face, then ducked his head to lick at the smear on her cheek.  He smacked his lips with a contemplative frown as he raised his head a fraction.  “Rose, where on earth did you find banana icing?”

“I found the recipe online,” she sniffed, a small smile breaking through.

“My brilliant wife,” he murmured, his hand moving to cup her head as he kissed her.

She broke away after a second, raising her hands to finger the lapels of his jacket.  “I’m sorry about your dinner, though.”

“I don’t care.”  He lowered his head again, pressing kisses along her neck, and growling when she tilted her head to give him better access.  “I don’t need anything special.”

“We can’t have cheesy noodles on your birthday,” she argued as he lowered one of her bra straps slowly, following it with open mouthed kisses over her shoulder.

“Says who?  I love your cheesy noodles.”

“They’re from a box,” she reminded him, and he raised his head look at her with hooded eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted.  He reached behind her, unhooking her bra but pulling her close before it fell, their chests keeping it up as he splayed his hands over her bare back.  “Only you can make it with so much love.”

“You know everyone thinks you’re so impressive,” she said, one hand cupping his shoulder as the other played with the short hairs at the back of his neck.

“I _am_ so impressive,” he replied, arching an eyebrow before lowering his hands to her hips and lifting her onto the counter.

“Yeah, okay,” she said with an eyeroll, and he smirked as she wrapped her legs around his hips.  He pressed kisses to her other shoulder as he pulled her bra down her arms and away from her body, then she pulled away to push his heavy leather jacket from his shoulders.  “But not so tough.  How come I’m the only one who gets to see that you’re just as cheesy as those noodles you love?”

He brought a hand up to one of her breasts, thumb moving over the stiff peak.  “Spousal privilege.”

“Right,” she laughed, and he pulled her off the counter, her legs tightening around his hips reflexively as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Among other things,” he murmured, and she rested her forehead on his as he carried her to their bedroom.

He dropped her down on the bed, and she laid back against the pillows as she toed off her remaining trainer.  He reached down for the laces of his boots, but got slightly distracted when she started running the tips of her fingers over her bare stomach.  His eyes moved back up to her face when she laughed to find her giving him a tongue-touched grin.

“Think you’re so impressive,” he muttered.

“I _am_ so impressive,” she said, mirroring his words from before, and his lips twitched in a faint smile as he tugged his boots and socks off.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head before crawling onto the bed and hovering over her to kiss her.

Jack had sworn once that he was never going to get married, because there was something about binding a relationship legally that took all the heat from sex.  Nearly six months of empirical evidence had completely negated his theory, however--making love to Rose was something that never lost any appeal for John, and likely wouldn’t as long as he lived.  He loved the way she moved, when she raised her hips for him to slide her jeans and knickers off while still clinging to him, legs kicking them off rather than breaking the kiss.  He loved the way she sounded, all breathy moans in his ear when his hand slid back up her thigh as he kissed her neck, giving way to filthy curses when he pushed his fingers into her and ran his thumb over her clit.  He loved the way she looked, back arching and eyes rolling back as her hips met the thrusts of his hand.  He loved the way she felt when she came around his fingers, buried deep in her and drawing out her orgasm as long as possible.

And he loved, when he shed his own trousers and pants and repositioned himself between her thighs, the devotion and desire in her eyes as she wrapped her legs around his hips.  He loved that she looked like home. 

He dipped his head to kiss her neck as he started to move, his forearm bracing him on the mattress as he gripped her hip with his free hand.  A curse ripped from his throat when he felt her nails on his back, the hint of pain amidst a sea of pleasure nearly his undoing right then.  He tilted her hips a little, changing the angle enough to grind his pelvis against her clit with every thrust, and felt her tremble around him as he pushed her to the brink.  Curses gave way to nonsense words interspersed with “yes” and “oh god” until she broke apart, clenching around him, and pulling him over the edge with her.  His hand cupped the back of her neck as he buried his face in her shoulder, groaning against her slick skin as he rocked against her.

He raised his head as he got his breath back, kissing her soundly before rolling off her with a groan.  He pulled her over with him, and she settled herself against his chest with an arm thrown lazily over his waist.

“For the record,” he said, thumb moving in slow circles on her hip, “that’s all I wanted for my birthday anyway.”

“Well, then, happy birthday,” she said with a giggle, raising her face to give him a quick kiss before snuggling deeper into his side.  “I love you.”

“I love you, Rose,” he said, running a hand through her hair.  “Til my dying day.”


End file.
